Ice Cream
by DistressedMoonchild
Summary: AU. Ran likes icecream and doesn't like his boss


TITLE: Ice-Cream  
AUTHOR: Moonchild in Distress  
FANDOM: Weiss Kreuz  
RATING: R  
PAIRING: Crawford/Ran  
GENRE: AU  
SUMMARY: Ran likes ice-cream and doesn't like his boss  
WARNINGS: slash  
DISCLAIMER: I'm just borrowing them. Will return mostly undamaged, honest  
ARCHIVING: my LJ and my Yahoo!Group. If for some unfathomable reason you want to put it anywhere else, please contact me  
FEEDBACK: pretty please?  
BETA: a huge thank-you to Anon for giving this story a plastic surgery it needed so much

**ICE-CREAM**

Her face will be peaceful and relaxed. If Ran doesn't look too closely, as he has taught himself not to a long time ago - if he ignores her paleness, the tubes, the impersonal hospital room - he will be able to believe that she's just sleeping. He doesn't torture himself anymore wondering when she wakes up. He knows she will, and it will be soon. Thinking about details, about her eyes slowly opening, the first words she will utter in years, her weak arms wrapping around his neck, all this just makes the waiting worse. So now Ran prefers to think of her return as a sure thing, something about to happen in the near future, as real and ordinary as a lazy little sister rousing from sleep a couple of hours later than her brother.

His cell rings exactly when he expects it to - when he is about to turn it off, standing at the hospital's entrance. He doesn't bother to check the caller's ID, already knowing who it is.

"Fujimiya."

"Hello, Ran. We need to talk about arrangements for Takatori-san's reception."

"All my ideas are in the file I left at your desk. Didn't you find it?"

"I did. Let's look at them together. Come to the office in an hour. I have a small window in my schedule." Not a hint whether he found anything interesting or Ran's suggestions will end up in the waste basket as soon as he enters. Typical. His boss never indicates his reaction in advance, preferring to leave words of praise or reprimand for face-to-face meetings to keep his subordinates on their toes.

"I have a day off - can't this wait till tomorrow?" Ran tries, even being aware that resistance is futile. He is only earning himself a lecture on duties and loyalty of a company's worker.

"Ran, surely you realize how important it is for our business to maintain good relations with our patrons? At times like these, we can't afford to neglect _any_ work, least of all an order from a long-term client." The voice is dry, with perfectly measured hints of reproach and surprise, and Ran heard the same words often enough in the past to know that this speech might easily progress to a "perhaps you should look into other job opportunities" conversation. The people to whom these words were addressed usually quit soon after.

It will be absolutely useless to point out that Takatori-san's order has been properly handled and there is no reason for Ran to rush back to the office on his day off. That a flower arrangement is _not_ a matter of life and death importance on which the company's future depends. And it is always "times like these". Whenever the staff is found to be in need of encouragement, the company turns out to be on the verge of some vague financial crisis, and only their hard and enthusiastic work can save it.

"I'll be there," he squeezes out through clenched teeth and switches off.

At "times like these" Ran hates Brad Crawford with passion.

* * *

After sacrificing an opportunity to spend time with Aya and a considerable part of his energy to comparing relative benefits of dahlias and peonies, Ran heads to his another place of work, feeling sure that his animosity towards Brad Crawford reached a wholly new level.

They had functioned just fine on their own, a small, neat-looking flower shop bringing a healthy profit to the owner. Granted, they owed most of their clientele to the charm and talkativeness of Momoe-san, who unfailingly gave you the feeling that you just had to buy a bouquet or two in order to prevent this fragile old lady from closing her little business and fading away, alone and poor. Ran sometimes thought their boss was wasting her acting talent here.

And then apparently Momoe-san arrived at the same conclusion and sold the shop. To an American company, no less. Theirs was not the first flower shop to be consumed in this manner and added to a retail chain spreading all over Japan.

Brad Crawford was a recent addition to their team, sent here straight from the States to work in the capacity of a sales manager. Ran wasn't aware back then that in Crawford's interpretation, it also implied taking over such functions as administration, supervision, human resources and quality control.

Their small team of four rapidly expanded into a horde of people responsible for handling orders, organizing deliveries, advertising, seeking out rare exotic plants, and designing flower arrangements.

Ran was told to focus on providing proper storage facilities for plants, along with the rest of the original team. Not that this meant reduction of their workload. On the contrary, these days they spend submerged in dirt and petals and fertilizers. It could possibly be seen as change for the better, compared to the incessant noise of girls who never bought anything and seemed to come to the shop with a single purpose of trying Ran's patience with stupid smiling and chattering.

Now Ran constantly asks himself if the disappearance of one irritant out of his sight is worth getting another one in the form of Crawford.

From the very beginning this man acted as the owner of the shop. There cannot be two leaders under one roof, Ran realizes that. And he grudgingly admits, no matter how vexing it is, that of the two of them Crawford is infinitely more knowledgeable in the ways a business is supposed to be run. The rapid increase in their profits is a good enough indicator of that. The American is incredibly apt at making efficient decisions, and he does it without the slightest hesitation, almost as if he knows the outcome in advance.

But Crawford does not stop at business matters. He interferes with every aspect of their lives. Or is it just Ran's life he appears to take particular interest in?

Long pseudo-philosophical conversations when Ran wants nothing but to be left alone, asking for his opinion when Crawford clearly has made the decision already, comments on Ran's clothing or manner of speaking, impeccably timed phone calls interrupting Ran's visits to Aya, such as the one he received now. Sometimes Ran is glad he abandoned his training in martial arts. The temptation to run his boss through with a well-sharpened katana would be hard to suppress.

Crawford has visitors. Yet another thing that makes Ran a little envious: connections. Not dark, painful shadows from his past, not old friends turned distant acquaintances, not tragic burdens.

The people Ran sees Crawford with are clearly a part of his present. Three visit most often. A tall guy with long orange hair and a sarcastic smirk inevitably appearing on his lips as he notices Ran. A silent white-haired man who looks half asleep as Crawford talks to him but who goes on alert immediately when somebody approaches them. A gloomy, terribly tense teenager whose eyes seem to glow with excitement only when Crawford addresses him.

Whether anybody else is in the room during their visits or not, Crawford's guests ignore their presence entirely. Crawford, in his own turn, never bothers to make introductions. One thing they have in common with the damn American is the same annoying air of superiority.

Crawford's life, the little that Ran knows of it, looks so smooth, clean and easy. Nothing like his own messy, pathetic existence, Ran adds silently as he squirms into his performance outfit.

He closes his eyes briefly, preparing himself mentally. Another song starts and he passes his tired, sweaty colleague on the way to the stage. The scene is not any different from what he sees here each night he comes to perform. The semi-dark hall is filled with people at the tables, whose faces change from green to red to yellow under the multi-colored lamps swirling under the ceiling.

For a second Ran believes that he recognizes one of the faces in the crowd and his heart nearly stops. As the spotlight reaches the same sector of the hall, he desperately studies the clientele but the man is nowhere to be seen. Could he be mistaken? Surely there are other dark-haired European-looking men in this district, wearing glasses and business suits? After all, what would Crawford do in such a place? Ran cannot imagine his haughty boss watching anything other than opera.

There is no time to dwell on the horrifying possibility of getting caught here, or to search any further. He's on the stage and the public is waiting for his show. With any luck, he will attract enough attention to be invited for a private dance in a cabin. Public performances aren't paid very well and are mostly just advertising for the other services on offer.

His technique is always the same. From slow suggestive motions to fast climax-imitating jerks, he swings his body and disposes of vulgar tight clothes. The usual. No matter what they say about his "exotic" dancing, probably referring to the moves he borrowed from past learning of martial arts and sword-fighting, there is no originality in striptease. Putting oneself on display, simulating masturbation, offering to the hungry eyes what will not be given. This is the only entertainment Ran gives himself here - teasing and arousing the losers drooling over him with promises he is certainly not planning to fulfill.

As he leaves the stage, a sign from the administrator pointing to one of the customers makes him forget about earlier Crawford-related worries. He has work tonight.

It is a middle-aged guy, looking way too hopeful about his order for Ran's taste as they head to one of the curtained cabins along the wall. Newcomers often don't realize that ordering a private dance will provide them exactly that - a dance. A couple of casual strokes, maybe even a little brush against their crotches if they are particularly lucky, and nothing else. A try for more will get them a punch in the jaw. Another innocent pleasure Ran indulges himself in occasionally, taking care not to bring any long-lasting damage. He doesn't want to be prosecuted for physical assault.

The sheen of perspiration on the client's skin and his hard breathing are the telltale signs that the show is coming to a close. That suits Ran just fine. He's spent several hours in a heated discussion with his boss at the shop this afternoon and is not inclined to linger here a minute longer than necessary.

As Ran adds a little speed to the swinging of his hips, he sees the client's fingers straying downwards. Without missing a beat, Ran slides forward and to the floor, face less than a foot away from the man's crotch.

"This will cost you double."

Feverish nodding.

Very well. It is not the first time Ran has to provide extra encouragement with his hands and mouth. It means getting out of this even faster than he anticipated and more money. He leans forward.

Events proceed quickly after that. A goodbye nod to the colleagues, a shower and a thorough mouthwash, then Ran is outside. Ice-cream time. Sweet and cold, it is the most efficient way to erase the memory of bitterness and warmth in his mouth. Something fruity, preferably. Hopefully the store he's heading to won't be out of strawberry.

He almost stumbles into somebody as he walks out of the club. One look at the person he's barely avoided colliding with is enough to tell him that his ice-cream plans have just been shot to hell.

* * *

"Do you need a raise?"

"Raise?" Ran repeats dumbly. Employees don't get raises right before they're sacked, do they? They've been sitting in this cafe for five or ten minutes, Ran's eyes glued to his cup of espresso, before Crawford decided to stop staring at him and start talking.

"I presume you chose this side activity because you need money, not because doing lap dance for strangers is your favorite pastime. Since I'm disinclined either to fire you or to risk the reputation of our business, I've invited you here to consider alternative solutions. So how much, and what do you need extra money for?" It almost looks like he is about to take out a checkbook and pay Ran immediately.

"Why?" Ran manages after a few moments of fighting the urge to pinch himself. The idea of Crawford helping him seems surreal.

"Why what?"

"If you are worried about the store's reputation, why not just order me to quit the job at the club?"

"That would be only a temporary solution. Even if you obeyed, you would still be seeking out ways to get the money. I don't want to walk into some alley and discover you there on another night job."

"And why would you bother to solve my problems?"

Crawford suddenly leans forward. "I have plans for you, Ran. Plans that would be difficult to implement if I fired you."

Oh. That's... unexpected. Albeit more believable than the idea of Crawford being altruistic. And Crawford's look and tone don't leave much room for misinterpretation. "What makes you think that keeping me on the job would help you?"

"Life experience," Crawford replies with a smile so confident that Ran cannot find a good objection.

Ran is almost sure that this will turn into a blackmail attempt now. Not that there is much Crawford could blackmail him with - the only person whose opinion really matters to Ran is not quite disposed to take in this information at the moment. Although losing the job at the shop _will_ be painful for his budget, especially when Aya is about to be put into another course of experimental and rather expensive therapy. If Crawford allows him to keep the job and uses what he has just learned as a means to control him.... However, Crawford hasn't said anything particularly threatening yet, and Ran feels strangely reluctant to pose the question himself. Whatever Crawford's plans are, Ran is unlikely to change them by pretending it's not going to happen but he still does not want to be the first to bring up the issue.

They sit in silence for a while, until it becomes apparent to Ran that Crawford won't continue.

"Is that all?" Ran finally says, his fingertips mindlessly rubbing the table surface. Could he really be so wrong about Crawford? So far no threats or blackmail attempts, no humiliating remarks. He feels a little ashamed of resenting the man for so long.

"It is," Crawford smiles slightly. "Unless you want more."

Ran finds himself speechless. He doesn't want anything! He only came here because he had no choice and would leave the moment....

Crawford's hand suddenly closes on his own. "You look tired, Ran. Two jobs don't do you any good."

Unexpectedly kind words are bringing up in him an urge to explain, to give reason for the things he's almost convinced himself not to be ashamed of. "I need to pay for my sister's medical treatment. It's expensive," he confesses. There, he said it. Crawford probably studied his case and is well aware of Aya's condition, so he doesn't have to add anything to this.

"Yes, family is important," Crawford agrees. "But there are sacrifices I know I would not _want_ from my relatives. Think about it: when your sister wakes up and if she finds out about your doings, won't she feel that the cost of her treatment was _too_ high?"

Ran doesn't care as much for what Crawford says about Aya's possible reaction as he appreciates the "when" and "if" distinction. More kindness. He rarely hears people even considering Aya's waking up.

He wants more suddenly, more of this confidence, kindness and subtle encouragement. Ran isn't sure if any part of his hesitation shows in his eyes, but when he hears "What would you say if I offered to take you home now?" from Crawford, he has no idea whose home Crawford has in mind. And realizes that it barely makes any difference to him. So he stands and silently follows the American's lead.

It is Crawford's place they end up at. There are several rooms, white and spacious, and not much furniture. That is as much as Ran can make out without the light being switched on. He's been pressed against the door at the moment of their entry and cannot afford to spare attention to the details of their surroundings. After putting himself on display for so many months he is overwhelmed with a desperate need to be touched and held. Crawford seems eager to oblige, judging by how fast his hands find their way under Ran's clothes.

Somewhere around dawn Ran wakes up and tries to think the situation over.

He doesn't need his options to be spelled out for him.

He can leave now and go back to the night club. Work every night because it would be his only job. Visit Aya every day. Be in control of his life, answer to no one but himself.

Or he can stay. Stay and... that's all there is, actually. Just stay. Crawford will probably take care of the rest.

Ran wishes the decision could be postponed till later. At least a couple of hours. He is too sleepy and exhausted to make a choice right away. But now he can pick up his scattered clothes from the floor of the entrance hall and walk off quietly. He can tell from Crawford's breathing that the man is not asleep but Ran is sure that no questions will be asked if he leaves like this. In the morning, however, an explanation will be required and listened to with a cold little smile that will make him stutter and forget what he is about to say. It is impossible to convince Crawford of anything because by the middle of conversation most people find themselves nodding to his words. Ran is no exception.

Maybe he is thinking too much into it? The hand resting on the small of his back is a warm and comforting weight. Not restricting. Supporting. And so he asks, knowing beforehand the reply will be affirmative because Crawford is _always_ prepared. That's just the way he is.

"Do you have strawberry ice-cream?"

**The End**


End file.
